Anticlimatic
by kinnoth
Summary: Exhibitionists and the morning after. Companion story to 'Duet'. Aion x Chrno SLASH


Disclaimer: Not mine

A/N: Fits in somewhere between the first and second parts of "Duet". Must I warn you? SLASH.

Stuff to watch out for:  
- Happy!Aion possible OOC-ness cuz he's Happy!Aion not Crazy!Aion  
- Fluff  
- Indecencies preformed but not graphically described  
- Mistakes in canon, of which I have not refreshed my memory since shortly after the last fic  
- General misshapenness from being written and published within the same hour

Enjoy

* * *

**Anticlimatic**

It begins in the morning when Aion wakes to find the bedsheets gone and the comforter pulled sufficatingly close to his chin. Chrno's doing, no doubt. Indeed, he looks up and around and notices a white crumple of bedcloths trailed across the floor and his half-bared lover rising statuesque from among them. Chrno's gone and planted himself by the window again, in one of his early morning fits of melancholy. Aion has no particular liking for these moods; they usually render Chrno less susceptible to conquest and more susceptible to thinking. Not that, of course, there's anything wrong with that. Aion wouldn't want a brainlessly docile lover, after all; he'd pick up the spider woman for that. And then they can _both_ be brainless.

He makes his state of wakefulness known with a series of ungraceful grunts and yawns. Chrno bends his neck and regards him with a quiet, "You're up early," and Aion is most pleased by the way the early morning sunlight gathers upon the bastion of his lover's collarbone, where his white throat curves into his solid shoulder.

"Mm," Aion replies, and extricates himself delicately from the swathe of blankets and pillows. "Too early." He makes his way over to the windowsill. Chrno has perched one leg upon this ledge, and drags the other outwards towards him. He looks like a Roman sculpture, the sheets wrapped indolently around his waist in proxy of an actual toga. Aion grins and leans behind his lover to open the window with feigned interest while keeping an appreciative eye on Chrno's arched arms and butterflied legs. "So what was so interesting to distract you from bed?" he asks, not really caring about the answer, just so long as the pretense of doing so distracts Chrno long enough for him to complete his seduction.

"I was thinking…" Chrno responds, wrapping tighter his arms around his knee. The windowsill is really only comfortably wide enough for one of them, but Aion squeezes in anyways, elbows bumping against the paned glass.

"Of course you were." Chrno leans back and allows himself to be slid bodily over Aion's leg and into his lap. "You do that a lot."

There's a bit of give and take here, like anywhere; though it is unusual for Aion to be in such a giving mood, Chrno is hardly one to complain. "I was just thinking: what if we're on the wrong side? Have you ever thought about it?"

His chin is nested warmly in Chrno's shoulder, and he can feel the vibration of Aion's voicebox against his back as he purrs, "No, not particularly. Do go on."

His lover's fingers are making their way down his ribcage, curving softly to accommodate the ripples they find there. Chrno admittedly finds this distracting but is determined to persevere, regardless. He really thinks he's on to something here.

"I mean," he says, "what if we're wrong?" Aion's wandering hands have dipped lower now, infiltrating the loose layers of his sheet, grazing across his hipbones. Chrno swallows. "What if what we did was really a sin in Hell? Where do we go when we die then, if even Hell is going to spit us back out?"

"Where we came from wasn't Hell, my dear," Aion drawls lazily. "That was Pandemonium, where the Demons live. Just like how Angels don't live in Heaven. Besides," he plants a series of well-placed kisses along the line of his lover's neck, "you forget, hm? We don't die."

Chrno wriggles, uncomfortably aroused, and touches his lover's hand to push it away. "But that's only because of our connection to the Astral Line." Aion is _indelible_. "According to your experiment, you can remove our natural connection and replace it otherwise. What if it – Aion _stop that_! – what if it doesn't work?"

"Mm," Aion repeats, though he pauses here as if to consider. "Is that what you're so worried about? You should know better." He resumes his ministrations again until Chrno gasps. "Don't worry, my dear; I won't let you die."

"Not _me_, Aion—" Chrno turns suddenly, pinning one hand shakily to Aion's shoulder and gathering the remaining vestiges of his modesty with the other. "You." Aion notes that while his lover's cheeks are colored by the loveliest flush and his lips are wet and breathless and wanton, behind the glaze of arousal, his eyes are genuinely concerned. He is thrown for a moment, unsure of what to make of this flustering development. He's had his share of lovers before Chrno – the lion's share, undoubtedly – but, well…

…never one who'd actually _loved_ him.

Aion comes around quickly enough. He decides the sudden pooling of warmth he feels indicates he's flattered by this concern. Touched, really. He says this, in something of uncharacteristic hush. "You needn't worry about that either," he murmurs, and touches fingers through Chrno's hair in a nearly platonic warmth. "I've confirmed the variables a thousand times myself. Nothing should go wrong."

"But what if it _does_?" Chrno's whisper almost breaks before it leaves his mouth.

"If I die…" Aion ignores the discomfort he feels in the speculation of his own demise. This is strange territory he's never been before; Demons do not die: it is an accepted reality of his condition. Where _did_ Demons go when they died? What order or classification did they fit under? Evil, most likely, going to Hell in eternal damnation. But what of decent Demons, ones with good intentions, as he'd like to think of himself? Were they, as well, inherently evil? Or was Hell a place exclusively for humans, the only true creatures of free will?

"We should have rigged one of those Demons you killed," Aion chuckles fondly. "Some device that would allow him to communicate with us after he'd died; to ask him where he's at."

Chrno glowers. "I'm serious, Aion," he lets him know.

"I know," Aion responds, and sighs. He tucks Chrno's head beneath his chin, so that his body is half twisted between his legs and half resting against his chest. "I don't know, really," he responds at last. "How about reincarnation; that sound good?"

Chrno snorts unbecomingly. "You lie too much," he mutters.

"I know," Aion repeats, looking down and sweeping his gaze across his lover's lithe form. They have a moment of warm open breezes like this, twined together upon the windowsill. But Aion's indistinctly annoyed, actually; his good humor seems to have deserted him for his lover, while Chrno's pensiveness seems to have latched itself onto him. He works at throwing it off, and it is in its last throes when it compels him to murmur: "But wherever I go, I hope you go there too." Chrno looks up. Then realizing what he's said, he adds, "After you finish destroying Pandemonium and if you don't manage to perfect the Contract before then. Of course."

His lover's smile is deservedly cocky. "Didn't know you were so _sentimental_, Aion," he quips before returning to his previous position.

"I'm not," Aion retorts, feeling indignant. "I'm just saying, that's all."

"Hm." Chrno smiles against his skin. "I'll follow you. Wherever you go. To the circles of Hell, if that's where life takes you."

"Death, you mean." Aion smirks. Chrno tightens his embrace. He really is such an earnest creature… "How devoted of you. I wonder if your mouth is as sweet as it sounds."

Chrno's smile widens and he shuffles himself up so that he confronts his lover, their faces separated by their breath alone. "You would, wouldn't you?"

He initially makes no protest as Aion makes his confirmation with liberal usage of tongue and teeth to places that most certainly are not his lips. "Aion," he murmurs as his lover begins to lean him back on the space formerly occupied by their legs. "_Aion_," he repeats, with more urgency, before an onslaught of questionable affections render him incapable of clear thought. "The _window_," he hisses, and Aion looks up absently. "We're right next to the window; we're on the first floor; the others will _see_."

His lover leers and lavishes his mouth with strategic offerings. "Then let's give them something to look at, hm?" and shifts his weight over Chrno's legs, sliding his hand over the sensitive skin of his belly.

Chrno lurches suddenly. "Aion that tickl-"

...it ends with the two of them taking their tumble through the open window


End file.
